


This One Is From You

by ICanBreathe



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Poi, Why does Root get shot so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICanBreathe/pseuds/ICanBreathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before falling asleep that night, Shaw wonders: has Root been shot more times than her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	This One Is From You

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feelings about Shaw shooting Root and Root getting shot all the time so this happened.

Shaw has been shot multiple times. The number of gunshot scars on her body would make her think twice before putting on a bikini on a crowded beach - that is, if she ever got enough time off to even go to the beach. She sometimes thinks it’s impossible that someone might have been shot more times than her and survived it. She discussed it with Reese over a beer once, and he said he had 9 scars. She couldn’t help the smug smile on her face when she announced her number. She has 12.

But then they’re on a mission that requires Root to quickly change into another woman’s dress, and pretend to be her in order to access sensible information.

“Enjoying what you see?” Root comments when she feels Shaw’s eyes trained on her as she changes. Shaw doesn’t reply, instead frowning at the number of scars she can see on Root’s back only. Root finishes getting dressed and soon the dress prevents Shaw from furthering her investigations.

Root shoots her a bright smile.

“As much as I’d love for us to stay here with you staring at me, there’s work to be done. Let’s go.”

Shaw doesn’t think about Root’s scars for the rest of the mission, too busy fighting her way out after the guards are alerted of their presence. But before falling asleep that night, she wonders: has Root been shot more times than her?

*******

The next time she thinks about it is, incidentally, the next time she finds herself alone in a room with Root wearing only half of her clothes.

After a particularly tough mission against Samaritan operatives, they find themselves hiding for the night in a decoy apartment the Machine found for them. Root has been shot in the hip during their escape, and despite her protests that it’s only a graze, Shaw is now tending to the wound.

“Didn’t know you would do so much just to get me to take off my shirt.” Root teases, sitting in only her jeans and bra on the couch next to Shaw, and winces when Shaw intentionally presses a bit harder on the tender skin next to the wound just to shut her up. She finishes stitching her up, and then her eyes drift to some other scars on Root’s body, fascinated. She lifts her hand to the side of Root’s stomach, just under her ribs, her fingers lightly touching the circle of paler skin there; Root trembles slightly under her touch, and Shaw hears her draw in a shaky breathe. Her hand falls to the side, on the couch, and the contact with Root is lost.

“You’re good to go.”

She stands immediately after and walks towards the kitchen to grab a drink, feeling Root’s eyes on her back as she leaves the room. Root joins her a minute later, her shirt back on, and grabs the second beer Shaw set out for her on the counter.

“The Machine says we can’t move until tomorrow. She’ll warn us when it’s safe to go.”

“Guess we’d better make ourselves at home then.” Shaw says, going through the cabinets until she finds an old pack of popcorn.

It’s only later, when they’re both sitting on the couch flipping through TV channels in order to keep busy, that she finally asks the question that’s been burning at the back of her mind all evening.

“Root? How many times have you been shot at?”

“More times than I can count. Just like any of you.”

“No, I mean… How many shots actually hit you?”

Root understands the silent question behind that, the “How many scars like that one on your ribs?”, and doesn’t even need a second before giving her answer.

“19. 23 if you count the grazes like today’s. 8 through and through, 11 regular gunshot wounds. All from different people, except 3 of them from an Italian guy during a mafia mission in Sicilia.”

Shaw is silent. She’s both impressed by the number and a little bit bothered by it. Almost like she cares that people go around and shoot at Root so much.

“That’s impressive.” she says.

“Well it’s no fun ride when you have to take care of it yourself, you know it.” Root says, looking at Shaw.

Shaw is about to retort something when Root’s eyes glaze over, and Shaw instantly know the Machine is talking. Root is on her feet 3 seconds later, grabbing her jacket and stuffing two guns in the back of her pants.

“We need to get going. The place is no longer safe.”

Shaw forgets about the conversation after that, too busy trying to make it out alive again.

*******

Three weeks later, they are faced with a perpetrator number that is way more dangerous than they had planned. They’re on the docks of the port with a swarm of heavily trained mercenaries after them. The Team is overwhelmed; Reese is protecting the entrance of the container Harold is hiding in, frantically trying to hack into the port security system in order to give the Machine access to the video feed. Shaw is having a confrontation against three heavily armed guys; she hasn’t heard from Root ever since she ran towards the cargo boat where all the other mercenaries are. Shaw is almost done with her last guy when her comm device crackles in her ear and she hears Root’s ragged breathing.

“Shaw, how far are you from the cargo boat? The Machine doesn’t have eyes here so I can’t see you.”

Shaw punches the guy in the face one last time and he falls to the ground, unmoving next to the two others.

“At first sight I’d say 300 meters. Need some backup up there?”

“No, Harold and John need you. Go get them and then take the car back to the Griffith Hotel on 5th Avenue. There are two rooms booked to the name Johnson. You need to stay off the grid for the night. It’s important that you get them both there, you hear me?”

She sounds scared. It doesn’t sound like her, and it makes Shaw frown a little.

“What about you Root, what are you doing?”

“I’ll meet you there. And Sameen? Be safe.”

Then the communication is cut. Shaw looks at the cargo she can hear gunshots coming from, fighting her instincts to go out there and help Root out. Instead, she listens to what she told her and goes help Finch and Reese.

Root had predicted right; they’re in a bad shape. Reese has been shot and Finch is watching, helpless, as a 2 meters tall mercenary approaches him. Shaw approaches swiftly and shoots the two remaining guys, then runs to help Reese up and pushes them both towards the car.

She starts the engine and speeds up, but looks back in the rearview window one last time, just in time to see the cargo boat burst into flames in an incredibly powerful explosion.

Her heart skips a bit, and her hand immediately flies to the comm. device in her hear.

“Root? Are you alright? Root!!”

She’s about to turn back around when she sees Reese in the backseat start to lull towards unconsciousness, and she remembers Root’s directions, telling her to get them both back to safety. She pushes back her urge to go back and drives faster towards the address Root gave her.

She hates the uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach that makes it churns at the prospect of something happening to Root.

*******

She’s kept busy with Reese’s injury for the two hours that follow the explosion, but she can’t help but think about Root. How scared she sounded during their last conversation. How she asked her how far she was from the cargo before blowing it up to pieces. She wants to go back for her, but Reese isn’t safe yet, not until she attends fully to his wounds.

Finch keeps trying to contact Root but his attempts are unsuccessful.

It’s only 3 hours later, when Reese is finally asleep and out of the woods, with Finch at his bedside monitoring him, that Shaw goes back to the other bedroom to suit up again and get ready to go back to the docks. She’s hasty, grabbing her guns and the car keys from the tablet as she tries not to think about how 3 hours is extremely late for a rescue party. Root still hasn’t given any signs.

She’s about to get out when the door bursts open from the other side, and she instantly grabs her gun. She lowers it immediately when she sees the person who walks in, and her stomach churns again in a way that makes her breathe catch in her throat and that she doesn’t understand.

Root is in a terrible shape. Her entire body is smeared in dirt and blood; her arm is bleeding from yet another shot wound, there’s a large cut on the side of her head that doesn’t look too deep but still doesn’t look good. She looks exhausted, but her eyes light up a little when she sees Shaw, all geared up and ready to go. A tired smile appears on her lips.

“I told you I would meet you th…”

Shaw’s lips crash on hers before she can finish her sentence, and she is pushed against the wall, Shaw’s body pressed against her. The first moment of surprise is quickly over, and her unharmed arm goes up to tangle her fingers in Shaw’s hair, answering to the kiss and deepening it.

Shaw suddenly interrupts them to look into Root’s eyes, with eyes lightened up by anger and something else, something that looks dangerously close to fear.

“Don’t ever do that again.” she growls, and Root can only nod, eyes wide, before Shaw is kissing her again with force.

It’s rushed, their hands roaming everywhere, their kisses more pressed and insistent. Shaw is seemingly unable to stop while Root just lets her take control, relishing into this moment she has been waiting for so long. She’s unbuttoning Shaw’s pants while Shaw helps her get out of her shirt, and then suddenly Shaw stops and Root freezes, waiting for Shaw to either push her away or walk away.

But Shaw stares at her, at her left shoulder, her fingers flying up to touch a light patch of skin at the crook of her neck, and Root understands.

“Is it…”

“Yes, Sameen.” It’s almost a whisper, likes she’s scared if she speaks too loud Shaw will slip out of her grasp and everything will stop there. “This one is from you.”

And Shaw looks at her with a look she doesn’t quite understands, like she wants to say something but can’t, and soon after Shaw is kissing her again, with more passion and need, like she’s desperate to tell her something.

And Root understands. With every kiss, with every brush of Shaw’s lips against her skin, with every single touch, she hears words. She hears “I’m so sorry.” and she hears “Don’t see me like the 17 other people who shot you.” and she hears “Stop getting shot.”

And it’s as much a declaration as Shaw will ever make, so Root takes all these words that aren’t words and replies with more kisses, more touches, more need.

And tries to convey meaning through her touch that Shaw was never anything like the other people who shot her.


End file.
